The Man With The Black Hand Tattoo
by DarkDanny
Summary: Wounded and rescued by a Huntress named Aela, Astav Shield-Breaker, the newly crowned Listener of the Dark Brotherhood finds himself at her and the Companion's mercy. Unfortunately for them, his family is searching for him... eventual Aela/PC


**Well hello. Welcome to the first chapter in the miniseries known as Dragonborn: Heroes of Skyrim. This series will feature three stories mini stories, no more then 5-8 chapters each and then the main fiction, the novelization of the Auldlin Crisis.**

**Chapter One: A Brother Captured**

**...**

_Awake, my child, my listener, you must be strong._

"That's some pretty armor, nord. Should fetch a pretty septim from the thieves guild. You don't mind do you? Ha... I don't suppose that you will."

Straps loosened around his armor, his cowl tugged off. Still he could not find the strength to pull himself up, to defend himself. Instead he stayed in the tender embrace he could he feel but not see. He just could sense it was there, watching over him, cradling him like an infant as his mother had many years ago.

"This bastard is loaded, Come now Rythes, Darvys. Fill your pockets and we'll get out of here."

It was his own stupid mistake that left him face down in the mud, bleeding profusely and burn beyond anything he had ever experianced before. He had gotten sloppy with a contract that he was bored enough to take. Some Sithis forsaken fool argonian with a real talent for fire.

"_Rend their flesh with your blade. Send them to our Dread Father who awaits their souls to torment."_

He could feel it before he could see it. His body dragged up and down as tightly wrapped light armor disappeared off his body, leaving him and mostly naked in the cold mud. How did he get here? Who were these attackers who caught him with an arrow in the side. they were Nobodies, they were scavengers. Weak minded elves in need of a swift death.

They hadn't realized they were looting the very much alive, newly crowned, though hotly contested, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood.

His hand subtly slipped downwards and downwards, touching bare flesh until he felt the leather of his boots, still on his body. He could sense them, Two of them taking in the distance obviously turned away. A third was nearby. Rummaging through his bag for anything interesting to take. His hand hit against a hard object stashed in his boots. A handle.

He went limp again as the nearest thief turned around. His hands wrapping around his boots, struggling to take them off.

"Hey you two, you forgot his boots. Damn nice looking too-."

His eyes widened as he noticed the supposedly knocked out nord's eyes opened and narrowed. Before the dunmer thief, nor his comrade realized it. The wounded nord had drawn a steel dagger and plunged it into his throat. Dark blood flowed and coated his hand. He swore he could hear the giggle of an old woman, delighted as the dunmer died slowly before his eyes.

His two other friends cried out his name, Rythes. And watched helplessly as the dunmer clutched his open wound and collapsed under his own weight as he uselessly tried to stop the heavy flow of blood pouring from him.

"You picked the wrong day to make me your enemy, Scrawny, thieving, dunmer freak." The man hissed, curling his lips back to form a menacing baring of his teeth

One approached him, the smaller of the two. an iron axe in hand, looking engaged at the man's words. He swung wildly, easily ducked by the nord, who in turn slashed out, ripping open the attacking dunmer's side. Spilling the elves bulbous organs out of the shredded flesh.

The nord smirked weakly as he watched the dunmer fall to the ground, clutching his wound in vain. He looked way and caught the third dunmer standing tall, his hands clutching the handle of a warhammer. It's deadly hammer had already swung out, much too late for the man to dodge it. The blow connected against his leg. A weak hit until he made a move to attack the elven bastard. His leg cracked and he collapsed screaming in rage.

Before he knew it, the knife was kicked out of his hand and a single blow to the head knocked him back into the Night Mother's tender embrace. As his vision faded out, the only thing he could hear was a roar in the distance, violent and frightening, he could hear his attackers footsteps fleeing from him, then... nothing.

**...**

**xxxxxxxxx**

**...**

Eyes glared down on the scene that unfolded in front of her. She was in the middle of feasting on an elk, fallen to her claws when he pointed well tuned ears first detected the sound of a fight in the distance.

She decided against joining, not wanting to disturb the combat and instead watched as a man, no, an elf, limped away from the aftermath, like a coward, leaving behind three dead men, two of his compatriots, the other, their victim, who had managed a glorious moment before his incapacitation. She could smell the blood from here, and she was on the opposite end of the lake.

Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and before she knew it, she was down the mountainside and crossing the lake.

He laid there limply, face planted into the mud unceremoniously, just left there for the carrion-eaters to pick his bones. The man was surprisingly small for a nord adult, Nearly as tall as her but looked almost skeletal in some respect. He was paler then nord's usually were, though that could easily be attributed to the many wounds covering him. By the Nine...

But that wasn't what interested her. There, covering his shoulder blade and some of his upper spine was a marking as black as night. It was of a hand print, ominous looking, it nearly frightened the Lycan where she stood.

She leaned in and took a long hard snort of the scent permeating from it and recoiled. It was disgustingly bitter. She knew immediately what it was: Belladonna, or better known as deadly nightshade. How in Ysgramor's name could anyone purposely stain their skin with such deadly poison?

Suddenly, a flicker of energy rolled through the man thought dead. Muscles tensed and relaxed. The Lycan growled lowly as she watched the man's body move up and down as life trickled back to his apparent death state. She looked him over and, with as much care as she could produce in this state, rolled the body over.

He laid there, bruised and burnt from magic. His face caked in mud and blood, a mix of his own and Elf. Still staring down at the nord, her claws grazed his cheek, attempting to get a better look at the man laying before her. He was gaunt, deathly pale like his body, a single slash made from a blade touched against his cheek. An old wound. This man had seen combat in some form or another.

His eyes opened, surprising the Lycan looming over the man. His eyes looked confused at first as he took in the sight of the overgrown wolf leering over him. Slowly, his wide eyes narrowed, his bloodstained mouth and teeth curled up.

Before she knew it, a crash and a sudden thundering pain erupted through her head, causing the werewolf to roar out in rage. She shook her head, watching her blood trickling down her face and into the mud. As soon as she gathered her senses, she found the tattooed man clambering away with whatever energy he could manage. His hand dropped what struck her. A simple rock, a chunk of limestone bloodied and coated with her skin and fur.

She leaned in and pounced, The man however dodged her charge easily, forcing her to smash against the tree he had been standing in front of. He took off, limping through the rock and mud. She growled again and charged after the man. She watched him lean down and took a hold of the nearest tree branch laying on the ground and turned back to face down the wolfwoman.

Unperturbed by the sight, she pounced again and again, the agile nord swung out of the wolf's way. This time however, the branch connected against the Lycan's face. She whimpered in a shocking pain and stumbled, falling into the mud. As quickly as she fell, she was back up and looming once again over the nord. The nord sneered, and with all his might, slammed the branch against the beast's chest again and again.

"WHY. WON'T. YOU. DIE!" He managed to scream at the top of his lungs as the branch swung and connected against the Lycan. cracking her toughened skin open and forcing her to bleed and whimper. One final swing against the side of the Lycan's head. Suddenly, the branch snapped, breaking his improvised weapon.

His eyes widened as he noticed that his attacks, though vicious and deadly to a normal man, were nothing more then superficial wounds to her. She stood back up, looming over the man.

"_Oh shit..."_ He managed to croak, dropping the chunk of wood on the ground.

She leaned inwards and roared, spit splashing across the man's face. She reared back her hand and slashed, cutting open his chest. Instead of falling, the nord jumped at her, His fists furiously slamming into her face. She watched as his knuckles bled furiously before he let his guard down just enough for her to push out of his hold and kicked him, slamming his body against the tree.

She listened to a crack and a moan as he slumped against the tree trunk. He coughed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Silently, she approached her foe. Her hips rolling as she stalked closer. Ready for any more of this worthy prey's brutal tactic. She watched his eyes, defiant to the last.

She stood over him, her muzzle curling back to reveal razor teeth. Inwardly, she restrained herself. Killing this man, despite the damage done to her, was not her intentions. He had fought bravely. Brave enough to join the ranks of the Companions.

Aela, the Lycan Huntress would be proud to call this strange man, Shield Brother.

Perhaps even father of her children.

Aela was not a woman to mince words when these thoughts arose, nor was she unaware that there were many women especially from regions south of Skyrim, Cyrodiil especially, that believed nord women were much too goal oriented when it came to things such as romance. That a nord woman traded getting to know their mate in exchange for life with a spouse.

She did not see what was wrong with tradition. It cut through the horse shit, that was 'Dating'. Besides, there was a very good reason why the old nord maxim went "The best way to get to know a nord woman was by drinking and having a fist fight with her."

Or... In this case, fending off an offended and slightly amorous Lycan from shredding or screwing him to death.

This fight, as painful and pointless as it had been, was a rather huge turn on. Few men had offered this sort of strength despite handicap. Perhaps if he survived, she'd break out her father's old Amulet of Mara for him to have. That is if he did not mind his mate having Lycan bloo-.

She whimpered and flew backwards, twitching as bolts of Electricity shot through her. The man was standing once more. Spine arched against the tree for support, his lips curled with rage as he screamed unintelligibly at her as he shot magicka through his hands and connecting to her face and body. The powers displayed, though powerful, were short lasting. He was too weak to maintain it. He groaned and slumped back on the ground.

Tenderly, Aela pushed her body back up and stalked back towards the human, he wheezed violently. His mouth opening and slowly he begun to chuckle. She snarled and pushed his head up. Suddenly, he cleared his throat and spat blood and saliva into her face. as a final act of defiance

"_Take your best shot, beast. The Dread Father will not take this offense lightly."_ He hissed cruelly, still cackling like he was dead man. Blood rolled down his lips at he stared down the wolf with as much malice as he possessed.

Aela lashed out and with constrained strength. Her jaw snapped inches from his face. Receiving no reaction, she roared and smashed the nord hard in the face, knocking him unconscious.

At long last, the man was incapacitated.

Tiredly, the Lycan stood up and howled out for her victory over this man. She turned back to him, fighting the bloodhaze calling to feast on her prey. She silently struggled against the urge. Urge to continue the fight, urge to feast on him, even the urge to wake him up and force him to consummate their bloody fray with her.

Instead, she leaned down and with as much care a Lycan could produce, she lifted him up, cradling the man in her arms like a child. She would take him to recuperate amongst those she deemed as his worthy equals, the companions. She would tell the tale of this Scrimmage unfiltered with bias towards her favor. She would sing his praises as brightly as any other brother she served with already.

**...**

**xxxxxxx**

**...**

He was in a world of hurt. Sithis, he would have sold his soul just to have a relief from it.

Astav Shield-Breaker, Dark Brotherhood assassin and apparent divinely chosen leader of the assassin guild opened his eyes. His vision fuzzy. His eyes were probably swollen. He could not make out much. Just that it was night time, the heat of a fire was touching against his skin, now wrapped in a blanket and the scent of another human was nearby.

He groaned, attempting to roll his body up to stand. He was unable, Carefully he rolled up the blanket and noticed that his leg was purple and wrapped up tightly in a splint. By Sithis... what in Oblivion happened to him?

_We drink to our youth, and to days come and gone. For the age of oppression is now nearly done._

_We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own. With our blood and our steel we will take back our home._

The voice was soft and feminine, surprising the assassin to look up and focus what vision his blacked out eyes could produce. It was a tall woman, she sat there hunched over a crackling campfire with what looked like a dagger's blade stuck in the fire. But for what...

His thoughts trailed off as he released he still had a arrowed buried deep inside him. Quietly he laid back, perhaps he had gotten lucky and found a friendly face out in the wilds. It was too bad about her song choices. The only thing that kept the region stable was the empire, not some foolish nord patriotism.

"_All hail to Ulfric. You are the High King... In your great honor we drink and we sing._

_We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives. And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies..._

_But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean. Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams._

The woman turned, illuminated by the fire she built. Tall, well built, a red head even. Her face coated in dirt, blood, bruises, burns and war paint. She frowned slightly at him as though she just knew about the kind of man he was. Lamely, he laid his head on the bedroll provided and waited as she seemed to hobble to his side.

"You're awake." She observed with a stupidly blunt note in her voice. "That is good."

A woman of few words. That was a rare thing to find, usually in Astav's experience they talked and talked and didn't understand the concept of shutting their faces. Mind you, this seemed like the traits of imperial and breton woman he had been with over the years. He may have been half breton, but his nord side longed for some peace and quiet.

His father always suggested sowing his oats up in the old country... Since his arrival a year ago, he could see why.

"For someone so wounded, you certainly have a sweet voice." Astav managed to groan out, clutching the arrow wound as it throbbed like a dull knife in him. "I bet you could get a spot in the Bards Collage for you.."

He chuckled tiredly and watched the tinge of red touch against her cheeks. It seemed that getting embarrassed was something this woman rarely did.

"First I imagine you'd have to clean that face and all that godforsaken war paint off you." He added, his smile dying as he replaced it with a smirk.

Much to his surprise, the woman did not scowl, nor look offended nor burst into tears like many weak minded breton women would do. She seemed actually pleased with the observation he made. Like it had been a badge of honor.

"Snark from a man whose life I saved. Wise." She grunted, leaning forward into him, her hand gripping his chest. "This is going to hurt for you. On the other hand, I think I may enjoy it."

Her hands yanked the arrow out of his side in a single tug, causing the assassin to roar in a pain he rarely felt. Immediately the blood started flowing. With one hand, the woman pressed tightly against the wound, her other hand reached back to grab the blade, now red hot.

"_Milkdrinker."_ She chastised his cries. "This is going to hurt even more."

The blade plunged inside the wound, burning his insides so cruelly. This time, Astav screamed, his arms flailing outwards, Grabbing onto something, anything. Anything happen to be around the woman, who accepted the embrace of the half nord. The pain was overwhelming and quietly she sung an old nordic lullaby. The likes of which he hadn't heard since his mother attempted to sing one on the insistence of his father.

The last thing he saw as is consciousness faded away was a massive flesh wound on her head... exactly where he had struck that lycan.

_Oh Sithis help him..._

**...**

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

**...**

"I knew this day was coming. Mistress Aela has found herself a mate worthy of her attention. Not many would draw her attention enough to be carried halfway across Skyrim."

Aela the Huntress ignored the words of the elderly maid, Tilma the Haggard as well as the snickering of her Shield Brothers and Sisters at the amusing comment. Farkas, Vilkas and Skjor pushed through the brothers and sisters to join the inner circle member, greatly curious with the new arrival brought along by the huntress. Brothers Farkas and Vilkas too grinning at the joke. They always wondered when she would settle.

Heh, not in their life. Or... so she had thought.

"I found him just from a mile southeast of Riverwood, on the lake shore." Aela explained as she gently laid her prey on the floor. "He faced me in combat despite injuries sustained beforehand. it was a... surprising attack."

"Looks as though you took the brunt of it." Skjor pointed out, his expression usually serious broke into the mildest of grins. Aela rolled her eyes at the old man and bent down, kneeling next to the unconscious half nord.

"He fought like an animal through no fault but my own." Aela explained, checking the moss and bandages holding his wounds together. "I was in the middle of the hunt when I bore witness to him being robbed. I went down to investigate. He got spooked and attacked."

"I see. What do you intend with your new plaything?" Vilkas spoke up, earning a couple chuckles on his own.

"Marriage undoubtedly." The old woman murmured once more to the group of warrior's. Her eyes resting on Aela. "I have not seen someone so infatuated in quite some time."

Aela hid the bush. Talos save her from this embarrassment.

"No." Aela yet again had to deny, no matter how right the old woman was. "I seek Kodlak, or any of you who may know what this means."

Carefully, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid the wounded man's head onto her lap, she then rolled his body over for all to bare witness to the sickening look black hand slapped across his shoulder. Each took a look at it but none seemed capable of coming up with a definite answer.

Aela was not surprised. Kodlak was the man to go to these sorts of things.

"Strange. Perhaps it is a simple tribal markings." Vilkas mused, his fingers grazing black as ink skin. "He is nord, at least partial despite his lack of physical prowess."

"What he lacks in muscle, he makes up with agility." Aela pointed out, gesturing to the dried blood coating over her own wounds. "Besides, his hit is much stronger than I anticipated."

"He lacks strength because his faction has no need for brute force."

The Companions looked up from the fallen half nord. There, watching the scene unfold before him, was Kodlak Whitemane, the Harbinger of the companions. His arms crossed as he watched the younger shield brothers and sisters step out of the way for him to get a better view. Slowly, with a tone of uncertainty, perhaps fear, he stepped forward, almost catatonic as his eyes never left the man laying on his side.

Aela couldn't help it, She shuffled on her knees but remained still, showing a tinge of worry. She had never seen Kodlak frightened before, but if she had to guess, then this would be the closest she saw him act in such a way.

"That, shield siblings, is the mark of the Black Hand." He explained to them. Noticing their confusion, he added. "An assassin, A member of the inner circle of The Dark Brotherhood."

The volume in the room significantly loudened as The Companions talked amongst each other at assessment made by the Harbinger. As Vikas, Skjor and Kodlak spoke quietly to one another, Farkas pulled his two handed sword off his back and held it over Aela, over the assassin in her lap. The others followed his lead, all arming themselves like the wounded man was still capable of great evil.

"Do you realize the risk you bring on us and our should they track this man down?" Skjor asked his shield sister. Before Aela could reply, Farkas interrupted.

"Then we will stop them in their tracks." He stated proudly, his fellow Companions cheering his words on. Aela did not join them, she would not allow this to happen, no matter what his past was.

Vilkas seemed to be in the same thought process as Aela had been. Without another word to Skjor or Kodlak, he stepped forward, his eyes on his brother.

"Farkas, Brother. The Dark Brotherhood will not seek honorable combat. They aren't above killing us deceptively should any single member of their family is captured." Vilkas explained. Pointed in his tone. "If this mark is correct and he is indeed a member of the Black Hand. Then they will not hesitate killing half of Whiterun for him as punishment for killing him so willingly."

Despite Vilkras' words, which caused the others to look at one a other in a worry they did not expect, Farkas on the other hand did not sway his grip on the sword handle. Still he glared at the assassin.

"Your brother's concerns are correct, Farkas. Please, lower your weapon" Kodlak agreed sagely with Vilkas. He limped over his hand pressing on Farkas' back as he added. "There are rumors that the Brotherhood was all but obliterated. Contracts have been frequently turned away, ignored even."

Kodlak shook his head wearily.

"If a member of the Black Hand has been chosen." He grimly mused. "Then the Dark Brotherhood may be attempting a return to the old days."

Aela's eyes widened. The return of the Assassin's? She had't heard much about them other then stores to frighten her s a child. How they murdered the emperor in the middle of prayer, how countless men, women and children fell to their blades...

Kodlak's eyes followed Farkas as he sheathed the weapon, the others, however, did not following his lead. Aela turned to the others, glaring at all of them with an intensity she rarely reached. Laying the assassin back on the floor she stood up tugging out her Skyforged Dagger and turned her sharp eyes over everyone still armed.

Farkas turned his eyes up to Aela.

"What say you, Aela." He demanded to know. "You brought this evil into our home, what is your excuse for this?"

Aela blinked, her eyes glancing downwards to look over the assassin with no name.

"There is no excuse I offer. I will not simply kill him because his path in life is different then ours. Perhaps there is reason to his choice. Reason we must learn rather then destroy." Aela spoke up her words attempting to pacify everyone from the sudden desire to see to this man's death. "Regardless. I will stand firm as his protector. I will not allow any of you to harm him."

"Even if he is an assassin, I will not stoop to his level and kill him incapacitated simply out of fear. I can not let you all give into this temptation as well." She finished echoing through the hall

Kodlak clapped his hands, a small gesture of concurrence with the Lycan huntress.

"Aela's assessment is the right course, however caution is never something to be ignored. It is in our best interest, not to keep this man in our walls." Skjor muttered to Kodlak, his eyes focused like the other's on the assassin.

"Yes... Nor will we release him him so soon. He is by far, our best change to have an inside look on an advisory." Kodlak decided, stoking his chin. He looked up, his eyes meeting the defiant Aela's.

"Aela, as you brought him to us, I would recommend, you serve as his overseer." He requested of her. "Keep him confined to your estate but do not chain him. He is your guest first and foremost."

Aela looked at the half nord who had beaten her to a pulp and managed to live. Without words, she simply spat a mouthful of saliva and blood on the floor of the longhouse, ignoring the protests of the elderly chamber maid. She wiped her mouth, cracking her neck as she turned her attention back to the Harbinger.

"Of course, Kodlak. I will lodge him." She agreed with a respectful nod. "But it it may be best for a rotating guard to assist me. He is clever to say the least. having an extra set of eyes will help."

"Then we are finished with this business." Kodlak spoke, turning away from Aela and addressing the group. "Farkas, escort Aela and the assassin, Vilkas, we shall discuss a guard detail over our new prisoner."

The Companions broke apart into a causal scattering, some wandering to the dining table, other downstairs to eat. The council outside, their destination the underpass to deliberate over this new situation. Farkas stood there next to her. His eyes still sneering at the unconscious Black Hand member. Aela ignored the expression and with a huff, she leaned down and pulled the man into her arms, dangling him loosely.

"I don't like this Aela. Not one bit." Farkas spoke as he followed her outside into the darkness of the night.

Aela did not reply, instead devoted her attention to the man cradled in her arms. Her thoughts were on combat, the way he screamed at her while she had the Lycan in her controlling her senses, the way he spoke, kind words, covered in snark to hide the sentiment of his life both spared and saved by her.

She was no seer, she did not see the future; But one thing was for certain. He would be a strange man to hold prisoner.

**...**

**xxxxxxxxx**

**..._  
_**

_I trailed the cloaked man deeper into the city, down an alleyway so narrow it was scarcely a crack between two tenements, past a crooked fence, and suddenly, miraculously, I was in a place I had never seen before. A little courtyard cemetery, with a dozen old half-rotted wooden tombstones._

None of the surrounding buildings had windows that faced it, so no one knew this miniature necropolis existed. No one, except the six men and one woman standing in it.

And me.

The woman saw me immediately, and gestured for me to come closer. I could have run, but - no, I couldn't have. I had pierced a mystery right in my adopted Sentinel, and I could not leave it.

_She knew my name, and she said it with a sweet smile. The Night Mother was a little old lady with fluffy white hair, cheeks like wrinkled apples that still carried the flush of youth, friendly eyes, blue as the Iliac Bay. She softly took my arm as we sat down amidst the graves and discussed murder._

_She was not always in Hammerfell, not always available for direct assignment, but it seemed she enjoyed actually talking to her clientele._

'I did not come here to hire the Brotherhood,' I said respectfully.

'Then why are you here?' the Night Mother asked, her eyes never leaving mine.

I told her I wanted to know about her. I did not expect an answer to that, but she told me.

'I do not mind the stories you writers dream up about me,' she chuckled. 'Some of them are very amusing, and some of them are good for business. I like the sexy dark woman lounging on the divan in Carlovac Townway's fiction particularly. The truth is that my history would not make a very dramatic tale. I was a thief, long, long ago, back when the Theives Guild _was only beginning. It's such a bother to sneak around a house when performing a burglary, and many of us found it most efficacious to strangle the occupant of the house. Just for convenience. I suggested to the Guild that a segment of our order be dedicated to the arts and sciences of murder._

'It did not seem like such a controversial idea to me,' the Night Mother shrugged. 'We had specialists in catburglary, pick-pocketing, lock-picking, fencing, all the other essential parts of the job. But the Guild thought that encouraging murder would be bad for business. Too much, too much, they argued.

'They might have been right,' the old woman continued. 'But I discovered there is a profit to be made, just the same, from sudden death. Not only can one rob the deceased, but, if your victim has enemies, which rich people often do, you can be paid for it even more. I began to murder people differently when I discovered that. After I strangled them, I would put two stones in their eyes, one black and one white.'-

...

Astrid, the sanctuary matron closed her eyes and looked up from the book. She could feel eyes burning through the back of her head. Idly, she ignored the sensation, causally the assassin flipped the page of her copy of Sacred Witness giving to her by her unusually thoughtful husband Arjborn.

"Yes, Babette, my dear?" Astrid called out lazily, not turning back to face the vampire immortal. Instead she leaned back into her seat, inspecting her nails. Her ears listened as small feet stepped up behind her and took a seat across from her. Astrid looked up meeting the careful stare of the adult trapped inside a child's body.

Babette appeared conflicted, unable to form her thoughts into words to convey to the matron.

"Our Listener is several days overdue, Astrid. I's only natural that I am... _Concerned_... For his wellbeing." She finally admitted, her delicate fingers lacing together.

Astrid curled her lip and sipped her glass of wine. Quietly she looked away and sighed, amused at Babette's concern. Ah, she should have guessed this was what troubled her so terribly. The newest recruit and already proclaimed as the highest member of the family, Astav Shield-Breaker. It was no secret Babbette harbored a strange affection for the halfblood nord, one many ignorant to her condition would consider... unnatural.

_"Listener..."_ Astrid finally repeated, her voice with a disapproving note to the claim made by the Night Mother and spread like a wild ire by her caretaker and fool Cicero, that disgusting little imperial freak.

"Yes, Mistress. _Our Listener._"

Astrid stiffened up, her grip on her glass tightening to near breaking point. It wasn't Babette's voice. She turned back and found it was Gabrielle who spoke. Her cold tone exemplified her distaste for the mistress of the sanctuary. Flanking her was Festus Krex and Veezara, who looked torn between loyalty to his matron and growing respect for the current events. The delicate power shift that was happening before their very eyes.

"Have you forgotten the old ways so quickly, Astrid, my dear? It has been fun, living on our own, being our own masters." Festus spoke up, "But it is time for tradition to be returned to our sanctuary, and if it is true and Shield-Breaker is the Listener, then we must adapt and embrace him as a leader."

The only thing keeping the stones running red with Festus' blood was her immense respect for his powers.

"Astrid, Regardless of the current affairs and recent arrivals, Astav is still our family." Babette arguing, her small hand reaching out to grab Astrid's arm gently. "I do not doubt his abilities, but If he is in trouble, then our family must be there for him. As he would be there for us."

A groan cut across any further talk.

"Can't you all just _shut your traps?_" A voice roared out from Astrid's bedroom. It was Arnjborn and he was clearly unimpressed by the sudden occupants in his room. "It's four in the morning, I have three children I need to tear apart tomorrow and I'm trying to get some decent goddamn sleep, cause I sure as oblivion am not going to sleep afterwards."

Surprising the the other assassin's, Astrid actually giggled. She stood up, dropping the book on the table. She wandered over to her half asleep husband. She smirked slightly and leaned in, pressing her lips against the edge of his lips.

_"Arnjborn, my love." _Astrid's words rolling off the tip of her tongue as she pulled herself back from allowing the assassin any reaction.. "Kindly go and track down our brother, Astav." She ordered gently. "Babette and company are correct. Family does not abandon one another."

Arnjborn grunted and rolled over onto his chest.

"I'll do it in the morning, now do me a huge favor and piss right off, the whole lot of you." He growled, closing his eyes and settling in for a good night sleep. A sleep he would not be getting. Though by no means a werewolf like the man she married, that did not mean Astrid was no pushover to her husbands will.

The blanket flew off him and before he knew it, small hands wrapped around the scuff of his neck, dragging the man, easily twice her size from out of bed and pinned him hard against the floor without even the slightest of hesitations, nor resistance to it.

"No, you'll do it now, you mangy mutt because I gave you an order, Now get going." She sneered, her teeth baring. Slowly, the anger died, replacing it with a look of seduction as she added, "Or would you rather me get rid of you right now. I'm perfectly fine with becoming a widow... I'm more then certain Astav would be a suitable replacement."

Arnjborn blinked and growled, standing up from under his wife. Again Astrid smirked. If her husband had one fault, it was possessive jealousness. Especially agitated now that her and Astiv had been working in such close proximity with her since Cicero's announcement of Astiv's ascendancy to the Listener.

"Fine, but if I don't find him outside the door, taking a bath in that pond outside, I'm going to rip him to pieces for making me look." Arnjborn growled, tugging his modified shrouded armor over his chest and pulling his boots on. With a last glare to each of the brother's, and the hardest look especially for her, he left, stomping out of the room.

Astrid sighed and turned away. She did not like having to do this, but Arnjborn countermanded an order. Even if she did not completely trust Astav, which she sure as Sithis did not, she would stand by her orders if only to project her authority. This was still her sanctuary and nobody was ever going to challenge that claim, not the so called Night Mother, Not the corpse's demented caretaker.

And most certainly not Astav Shield-Breaker, the pretender to the guild leadership...

"Is there anything else you require of me, brother's? If not would you mind leaving me in peace?" Astrid requested, stepping back to her seat and grabbing the book.

Babette and Gabrielle shared a look. Slowly, they bowed to the matron and turned away talking gently to one another. Festus too followed, grumbling about how he had ruined a batch of invisibility potions to join in this intervention. Astrid ignored them and went back to finding her page.

She scowled hard, biting her lip. Astav had ruined a perfectly good evening.

"I know that look mistress, is there something you require?"

Astrid closed her eyes and exhaled. It was her personal assassin, The final shadowscale assassin, Veezara, standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. Astrid looked up, meeting Veezara's big reptilian eyes, slowly, she nodded gravely.

"You know me too well..." Astrid chuckled humorlessly. She gestured the shadowscale closer, adding. "Despite my posturing, I am just as concerned as the others. I must remain rational however."

Yes... just because she did not like the title whispered around the sanctuary and did not trust the bearer of the title of not having the power he could posses go quickly to his head did not mean she did not like Astav. Astav was charming in the bitterly sarcastic and occasionally cruel sort of way.

When they first met in that old abandoned shack, did not fall to the theatrics that lesser assassins swallowed, he flat out acknowledge he had taken that old woman's life and wasn't sorry for it. But he was willing to pay back for the blood owed. Something Astrid had expected him to do.

She offered him a test. Three targets, one guilty, two innocent. She expected him to do what was necessary, there was no rhyme or reason to the test, just to see if he would kill by her command. Well he did not ask a question to any of them. What she did not expect that of the three targets she gave him, he killed all three without even bothering to investigate, he stood behind them and snapped each of their necks like they were chickens ready for the slaughter.

When she asked why he did so, he looked a her, a smile in his eyes, he simply said. "Do you really need a reason for what I did?"

Had Astrid not been a married women, she would have jumped him then and there.

"I would like you to search Falkreath, Riverwood and Whiterun." She managed to find her voice as the thoughts drifted away. "Sithis forbid If he has been hurt... he may have stumbled there. Perhaps even got himself captured by the city guard."

Veezara winced at the thought of his newest brother trapped in a jail cell.

"If that's the case, I want you to go down to Riften contact Cynric Endell." Astrid directed to him. "It is unlikely he will do it, but having a favor owed by the Dark Brotherhood is always a good favor to have. If Astav hasn't been captured, come back in two days time with whatever leads you find."

Veezara nodded grimly and turned away, following Arnjborn's path to the sanctuary door, leaving Astrid alone with her book and glass of wine. She quietly sipped the drink and set it down. Her eyes drifted back to the novel's words.

...  
_'Why?' I asked._

'It was a sort of calling card of mine. You're a writer - don't you want your name on your books? I couldn't use my name, but I wanted potential clients to know me and my work. I don't do it anymore, no need to, but at the time, it was my signature. Word spread, and I soon had quite a successful business.'

'And that became the Morag Tong?' I asked.

'Oh, dear me, no,' the Night Mother smiled. 'The Morag Tong was around long before my time. I know I'm old, but I'm not that old. I merely hired on some of their assassins when they began to fall apart after the murder of the last Potentate. They did not want to be members of the Tong anymore, and since I was the only other murder syndicate of any note, they just joined on.'

I phrased my next question carefully. 'Will you kill me now that you've told me all this?'

She nodded sadly, letting out a little grandmotherly sigh. 'You are such a nice, polite young man, I hate to end our acquaintanceship. I don't suppose you would agree to a concession or two in exchange for your life, would you?'

To my everlasting shame, I did agree. I said I would say nothing about our meeting, which, as the reader can see, was a promise I eventually, years later, chose not to keep. Why have I endangered my life thus?

Because of the promises I did keep.

I helped the Night Mother and the Dark Brotherhood in acts too despicable, too bloody for me to set to paper. My hand quivers as I think about the people I betrayed, beginning with that night. I tried to write my poetry, but ink seemed to turn to blood. Finally, I fled, changing my name, going to a land where no one would know me.

And I wrote this. The true history of the Night Mother, from the interview she gave me on the night we met. It will be the last thing I ever write, this I know. And every word is true.  


_Pray for me._  
...

Astrid closed the novella, grinning mildly to herself. She may not have agreed with allowing the old bag of bones full control over her family, but she sure as Sithis respected the kind of woman she was in life.

**...**

**xxxxxxxxxx**

**...**

**I hope you enjoyed, I will be writing concurrently, three stories. The first one and the one you are about to read involves: **

**A/ A Dark Brotherhood assassin, Astav Shield-Breaker, of nord and breton descent has been recently named The Listener. He is wounded and trapped in the hands of the companions, having to rely his new family to save him. **

**B/ The wacky adventures of a nord mage and his best friend, the insufferable Brelyna Maryon, chronicling their adventures dungeon diving, killing dead things and using magic that is waaay over their head. **

**C/ Finally, a stoic loner nord, with a master's education in thievery. Watch as he resists the Thieves Guild's demands to join them and wages a private war against the Stormcloaks who once sold him out to the Thalmor.**

**Eventually as these stories draw to a conclusion, they will be introduced as teammates to the Dovahkiin himself. (Perhaps herself) starting my grand story. So I suggest you add me to author alert if you have enjoyed, You won't see an update to this until I start the next two stories as well.**

**Thanks again for reading and I hope to update soon!**


End file.
